


Auror's Dilemma

by GatewayGirl



Series: The Finder Series [5]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Auror-fic, D/s, Multi, Smoking, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatewayGirl/pseuds/GatewayGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an Apprentice Auror, Ron is uncomfortable with Harry's explanation of what he does -- professionally -- with Snape. Certainly some of that is likely to be illegal. However, when a serious poaching case lands on his desk, he's not sure he can trust his judgment. Is he so scandalized that he is assuming guilt unfairly? Or is it the other way round?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I skipped Archive Warnings to be more specific. This story has smoking, glimpses of D/s, and someone under the effects of an aphrodisiac (attempted drug-rape). The last is non-con, but doesn't go very far.
> 
> This story follows Winter's Sport, but is not part of that story arc. Also, while the earlier Finder's stories alternated PoV between Harry and Severus and had a lot of sex between them, this is entirely from Ron's point of view, so you only see what he sees.
> 
> Canon-Compliancy: OotP

We -- Hermione and I, that is -- were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for Harry, and wondering what he would be like, and that was all wrong. Not the waiting bit, I mean. I always knew he'd have his own life after school. He did even in school -- more than I'd known at the time, unfortunately. I meant the wondering. That was wrong. For most of seven years at Hogwarts, I'd been sure of Harry. Even when we weren't speaking to each other, I knew who he was, what he was like. Well, except for that time at the beginning of fourth year, but you know how it is at that age.

So, anyway, we'd been close, the three of us. And then Hermione and I started, well, getting involved. And then he started secretly having it off with Professor Snape. And that's crazy, you know? Even if it was regular sex -- well, as regular as sex between two blokes can be -- and it wasn't. Even Harry says it was twisted, and when you add in how Snape is twice his age, and hated his father, and hated _him_, and then things like _chains _and him being a teacher... well. He shouldn't have been with him.

Snape got sacked, of course, when old McGonagall found out. Even helping to kill Voldemort couldn't get him out of that one. And that, I had reckoned, was that, except for Harry living down his new reputation. Until the day after we finished our N.E.W.T.s. Everyone was celebrating -- or drowning their sorrows -- in Hogsmeade, and then at some point, Hermione and I realized we hadn't seen Harry for a few hours. So we started asking around, and no one else had either, so the lot of us started to search. It was pretty well dark, and Hagrid had just showed up to chivy us back to the castle -- and wasn't he surprised we weren't all in the Three Broomsticks in an ongoing pissup -- when Harry finally showed. He wasn't wearing his Gryffindor tie. He had a collar on instead, like the sort you'd put on a dog. A big, dangerous dog that might be hunting something with teeth. It was a wide strip of black leather with brass studs in staggered lines. "From Severus," he told us, touching it, as pleased as a girl with jewels.

He wouldn't take it off. He did up his robes, but you could still see it was there. When McGonagall noticed, she ordered him to remove it, and he still wouldn't. (I don't get that. He'll take orders from Snape, clear enough. Why not someone reasonable?) She told him to remove it or leave, and he called her bluff, and then she let him stay anyway. There wasn't much else she could do but throw him out -- we'd already taken our N.E.W.T.s, after all -- and she really didn't want to, so he got away with it.

"Ron? Have you heard anything I've said?"

Hermione's voice was sharp. I hadn't, really. She'd been talking about some journal article on runic composition. I don't even know what that means, exactly. Still, she's my girlfriend, and I ought to listen. I tried to look apologetic. "Sorry. Thinking about Harry."

That worked better than a dozen roses. Her irritation faded into sympathy, and she glanced over at the public grate, which I'd been watching all along. "I've been trying not to. I'm probably babbling horribly. I hope he's all right. His owl didn't say much."

"Maybe he's left Snape."

She looked uncertain. "I wouldn't expect that this early. Of course, if he's staying with him, that might accelerate--"

The door opened. Maybe it was Auror training, or maybe I always do this and never noticed before, but I looked towards the motion. It was Harry, coming in off the street rather than through the Floo.

He was still wearing the collar. I didn't have to look for it; the wide, low neckline of his black tank top left it starkly visible against his lightly tanned skin. He had a belt with matching studs. It hung loose over black jeans that clung close to his body from his hips to the tops of his boots. The tight fit made him look taller -- I was sure he couldn't have grown that much in four weeks.

"Was he always that skinny?" Hermione whispered, and I shrugged. From the corner of my eye, I saw her wave, and Harry spotted us and headed over, a broad smile brightening his face. That was a good sign, anyway. After nearly four weeks of silence, I hadn't been sure we'd still rated. As he got closer, we came to our feet, and I realized it wasn't the jeans. It was the boots. He actually _was _a couple of inches taller than in his trainers.

"Hi," Harry said, as he stopped at our table. An odd look flashed across his face, but then he was smiling again, and embracing Hermione. (That's all right. When he touches her, it's like he's a girl. I'm not jealous at all.) He kissed her cheek (I told you it was girly!) before letting her go. Finally, he turned to me and held out his hand. _Then _I was jealous, all in a rush. I took it automatically, as if I were nothing but Hermione's boyfriend. Angrily, I grabbed his shoulder as well, making it more.

"Prat."

With a jerk of his head -- the motion that used to shake back his fringe when it wasn't done up in little spikes -- he mirrored the motion, turning the handshake into half a hug.

"Sorry," he said.

"You should be!" I told him. "You said we'd still be friends."

I felt his muscles tense under my hand. His shoulders rose. "Aren't we?" he asked.

With a growl, I let go of him and folded my arms over my chest. "_I _didn't disappear for a month," I pointed out. "I didn't try to get off with a _handshake._"

"Oh." Harry jerked his head to the side again. "Well, you looked uncomfortable." He shrugged. "So I wasn't sure."

"Wasn't sure?" I repeated indignantly. "Of me?"

Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "I think he was just staring at your clothes, Harry."

Snorting, I stepped back. "Got that one right." _And that collar. _

Hermione giggled. "You have gone rather punk."

"Don't you think it suits me?" Harry asked, grinning at her.

In reply, she tsked. "You look too skinny."

"I _am _that skinny, though."

I stepped forward, taking an arm of each to get them moving toward the bar. "On my part, I was noticing that you'd picked up Snape's color scheme," I said, keeping it light. "Just showing ten times the skin."

"I'd started in an orange shirt," Harry protested. He ducked his head apologetically and shook his head again. "But then I thought I could stop and do just one thing in the garden, and _then _I had to change."

"Can't do a Cleaning charm?"

"It's not the same."

"Of course it is!" I scoffed, but Hermione shook her head. It must be something about being raised by Muggles.

"No. He's right on that one. I didn't know you liked gardening, Harry."

"Neither did I!" Harry said cheerfully, and ordered a beer. Except for the clothes, he seemed normal enough. I thought things might be all right.

  


We took our drinks to a table further from the fire, and sat down. Hermione took a sip of her wine and shifted uneasily in her seat. "So," she said. "How have you been?"

"Great!" Harry said. "I'm sorry I didn't write to you earlier. I've been busy, and it took a while for me to realize that you two couldn't find me the way I could find you -- well, find Ron, anyway."

No kidding. He'd sent me a letter at the Burrow, and my mum had forwarded it on to the flat I shared with Neville. Not without reading it first, I'm sure, but Harry must have known that would happen. At least, that was my explanation for why it said so little. Just that he was okay, he was living with Snape (not 'okay' in my mind), and that he'd like to see me and Hermione if we had time. As if we might not.

"Yeah. Didn't think you'd leave a forwarding address with the Dursleys."

That was apparently amusing enough. Harry grinned. "Hardly," he said.

"Still," I pressed, "I'd have thought you'd have missed us earlier." I couldn't quite push down the resentful thought that it hadn't taken _me _a monthto notice that Harry had vanished.

"We bought a house," Harry said, as if this was the best news ever.

I felt like he'd punched me in the gut. How in thrall did Snape have him for Harry to spend that sort of money on him? "And you can't imagine how much there is to do when you do that," Harry continued happily.

"You bought Snape a house," I translated back, my voice flat.

"What?" Harry's forehead scrunched up as he stared at me. "No. We went halves on it. We're both on the deed, too, so don't look at me like that."

"Snape doesn't have that sort of money." I could tell. Snape fakes privilege better than the twins, but he hadn't come from money, and teaching wouldn't have brought him to it.

Harry relaxed. "Not until I gave him a dead basilisk to sell," he said cheerfully. "_That  
_was the part I couldn't tell you before -- about how it all started."

"Gave him?" Hermione demanded, while I was still grasping for words.

Shrugging, Harry swallowed a mouthful of beer. "We did an even split of the profits. I insisted ten percent go to the school off the top." He snorted. "Finally presented that to Professor McGonagall last week. That was a row!"

Hermione frowned. "Shouldn't it all belong to the school?"

Harry shook his head. "Slayer's Geld, it's called. The school could have invoked that in the first year -- paid me a set fee in return for my claim to the body -- but they didn't, and that made ownership revert to me."

"But you gave Mr. Snape half."

Harry cocked his head at her. The motion made candlelight glitter off the studs on one side of his collar. I don't know why she needs to replace the missing "Professor" with something else. I just call him Snape.

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure I wouldn't have got half of _that _if I'd tried to sell it myself. I also didn't know how to harvest the scales, or even what my legal rights were. It was damn near useless to me without him."

"I still think he's taking advantage of you, somehow." I was glad she'd said it. It would've come out worse from me.

Grinning, Harry lifted his pint. "He takes advantage of me every way he can -- which is brilliant."

Hermione looked down, the edges of her mouth tightening, and for once, I thought I knew just how she felt.

"Look, mate..." I began.

Harry got _that _look -- the one that says crossing him won't get you anything but trouble.

"I don't need protection," he said. "I know what I'm doing -- better than you ever will."

I bristled. "Is that so?"

"Of course it is," he said. "I'm me, after all. I expect you know your own life better too."

That made it less offensive, of course, but I still thought he was wrong. Sometimes people are near blind about themselves. I know I have been. Before I could find the words to say that, he had got to his feet, empty glass in hand.

"My round," he said. "What would you like?"

  


I watched him walk off to the bar. His stride was a bit longer than it used to be, but he still moved like himself -- like _our _Harry. Beside me, Hermione sighed.

"Have any brilliant ideas?" I asked her, and she sighed again.

"Really, Ronald. We can't stop him. I'd like to try but...."

"But?" I prompted.

"He looks happy."

I glanced back at the bar. Harry didn't look too happy at the moment. Some drunk bloke was right up to him, leering and saying something that had Harry glowering. I settled back in my chair. I recognized the tight way Harry was standing, and how he had his arms crossed in a loose sort of way that left him quicker access to his wand than you'd think. This was likely to be entertaining.

The man reached out to Harry. Harry's face radiated anger as he spoke. He didn't shift.

The man _touched _Harry, or more precisely, touched his collar. I tensed, waiting for the explosion, but it didn't happen. The man looped a finger through the ring at the front and tugged. Harry didn't budge. With the panicked thought that Snape (the bastard!) had trained him out of responding, I leapt to my feet to intervene.

And the man went flying.

While I stood, useless, by my fallen chair, he crashed backwards into a small cluster of people, causing swearing and shouts and a lot of spilled beer, and Harry, laughing slightly, turned back to Tom, dropped coins in a flash of gold that would pay for far more than our order, and picked up three glasses.

"What was that?" I asked, as I took my beer. Behind him, I saw the disrupted crowd claiming drinks from Tom and looking cheerful about it; it seemed Harry had paid for a round.

"Eh, some idiot who thought if I take orders from someone else, I'd take them from him. I get a lot of that." His hand moved back, high on his bum, and then twitched away. I wondered if he was hurt.

"But who took him down?" I asked. I couldn't see Tom interfering.

Hermione's head shot up. For one frightening moment I thought she'd raise her hand. "It was the collar," she said.

Harry nodded. "And honestly, if anything was ever a big 'taken' sign! It's like grabbing a girl by her diamond."

I was revolted. Hermione giggled. Just as I thought I'd have to haul her off to St. Mungo's, she sobered. "I doubt most people see it that way."

"It's true though," he insisted. "It means I'm his."

"People don't belong to anyone," she insisted.

"Not in a bad way," he said. "Just -- you know. A real relationship. There are things I do, and things he does, and some things we portion out on the fly."

She pursed her lips, thinking, but not approving. "And to signify this, you wear a collar. Does he wear anything for you?"

Harry grinned. "A ring," he said. "Not one anyone else would recognize as meaningful, but that's okay." He leaned back in his seat, and once again I saw that fleeting touch back. I wondered if there was something there that hurt, or some more permanent token of his nasty lover. I wouldn't put it past Snape to brand him on the buttocks.

"Mine," Harry said smugly, "is sexier."

Despite herself, Hermione smiled. Harry turned to me. "So, how's your life? Auror training, is it?"

"Right. I'm not sure I would have got in, if there wasn't a shortage--"

He punched me on the arm. "None of that, now. Congratulations."

"Thanks." I looked back at the bar. The man who had approached Harry had left. Some of the others were looking our way. "A lot of that, huh?" I asked, gesturing back.

He reddened. "Well, with the coverage of how Severus and I killed Voldemort...." He shrugged. "Let's say I get a lot of offers, and most of them are from idiots who think they can have me on my knees." He looked back at the bar. "Though more often than not, I can correct that impression with just words; spending all that time with Severus is good for that. It's only a few arseholes who think a refusal means I want to be pushed."

"Well, what else would they think?" I asked, exasperated. "You're walking about like _that_, advertising that you like it--"

He growled. "Not from _anyone_."

Hermione took the sort of breath that meant she had something to say. I looked at her.

"Ron," she said. "You like it when I wear tight shirts, right?"

That was indisputable. She was wearing one now, actually, and it showed every curve of her breasts and nipples. I had to lick my lips. "Well, of course--"

"So, I like wearing shirts like that, because it gets you, um, interested."

"Can't help that!" I exclaimed.

"So when I wear them, it doesn't mean I want strangers to touch my breasts. It means I want _you _to."

"Oh." I studied her for a moment. More than a moment. For a while I lost the point in thinking about touching her breasts. A lot. Harry coughed, and I pulled myself back to the conversation.

"He's not here," I objected. Harry's display wasn't really for Snape, then, was it?

Harry shrugged. "No, he went home when I headed over to the pub. But we did spend the afternoon together. And he likes people knowing I'm his, too. I don't leave the house without the collar on."

I shook my head. I still wasn't quite sure I got it. From the look on Hermione's face, I wasn't sure she did either, really.

"So," he prompted. "Auror training."

 I recollected my thoughts. "Well, I'm one of two apprentices assigned to this fellow Batchelder--"

"Assigned? I thought the trainees took classes together."

"Apprentice Aurors," Hermione corrected him.

"They do," I said. Harry could call us fledglings for all I cared. "For some things, like combat and charms. But after a month of that, we add in an apprenticeship for hands-on work." I drew a line through the condensation on my beer. "Mind you, I think it's mostly a way for the masters to get all their paperwork done by someone else."

  


Harry was nearly through his third pint before the reach back completed, and I discovered it hadn't been something on his skin at all. Instead, he pulled a flat black case out of a pocket. Ducking his head a little, he glanced at Hermione as he took a cigarette from it. "Sorry," he said.

I burst out laughing, getting a glare from my girlfriend and a confused look from Harry.

"Share the joke?" he asked cautiously.

"You kept reaching back," I said. It wasn't the best of explanations, but none of us were much for drinking. "It was -- I thought it was -- you were hurt, or something, or he'd made you get a tattoo there, or....."

Harry snorted. "Severus is rather against tattoos, actually. Or anything else you can't undo. I can wind him up for hours just by admiring a piercing."

Hermione giggled and plastered herself to his side. "Har_ry_," she warbled. "You're so funny. Even if you are a twit. Well, maybe because you're a twit."

"Hey," I objected. "If you're that drunk, you're supposed to drape yourself over _me_."

"Oh! Sorry," she said, and switched to leaning in the other direction, her head heavy on my shoulder. She met Harry's eyes, and they both burst out laughing, but then she stopped abruptly. "You'd quit," she said sadly.

He blew smoke out at the light. "So?" he challenged.

"I thought you'd stay off it."

He shrugged. "Why? It wasn't _my _choice, you know -- it was yours. I didn't want to spend our last few weeks together fighting, and it wasn't like Severus was there to be turned on."

"He's not here either," she said, and he ducked his head.

"Yeah. Sorry." He smiled at her as if she were far away, and he seemed far away to me. We were all drunk, I told myself. "Love you anyway."

She pressed tighter against me. "I love you too, Harry. Always."

He waved a hand at us. "Take your girl home, Ron," he advised. He'd acquired a credible leer, probably from That Greasy Bastard. "Home and to bed."

"But we'll do this again?" Hermione asked quickly.

"Of course!" He came to his feet, listing only a little, and only for a moment, and pressed out the cigarette. "And I want to have you over for dinner. I'll call you when the Floo gets hooked up."

  


A week later, Hermione and I still hadn't heard from Harry. I was over at her flat, watching her finish up cooking dinner, when I heard a tapping at the window.

"Let that in, will you?" she asked.

"It's Hedwig!" I said from the glass, hurrying to admit the snowy owl. She landed on the chair between us and held out her leg. I untied a message addressed to me, and another addressed to Hermione. I swear the bird looked smug.

"Read it," she said. "I can't stop stirring just yet."

"Yours or mine?" I asked.

She looked over, startled, and then smiled as I held up two letters. "Yours, if you don't mind."

I shrugged.

"Ron," I read, "We got the Floo set up, but I couldn't call with my Floo address, because I don't know yours. Maybe we should have spent a bit more time on practical information the other night. Mine is 'The Balance Point', but I won't be there for a week or two. I need to travel on business. I'll let you know when I'm back, and we can schedule the dinner then.

"It was good to see you the other night. Cheers, Harry."

Hermione moved the pot from the cooker. She'd managed to rent a place that had gone from Muggle to Wizard hands early in the century, and had a few sensible old amenities that didn't rely on _elektricity _(yes, she made me learn to say that!) and thus could survive magic. The cooker could run on wood or coal; she preferred the former.

"On _business_," she repeated. "Do we know what he does?"

I'd been trying not to think of that. "You thought he was going to be an Unspeakable, right?"

She sniffed. "He's clearly not. For one thing, one of us would have run into him at the Ministry, by now."

I nodded. I'd realized at the time that Harry hadn't said anything definitive, but there had been no use telling Hermione that. Letting it slide had bought us both some peace.

"Well, he's doing something," I offered.

She frowned. "Or it's an excuse."

  


It was two weeks before we managed to speak to Harry again, and several days later that we finally Flooed into the Balance Point. Harry, unlike our last encounter, greeted me with a hug. While he was giving Hermione a similar welcome, I looked around. I'd expected something dingy and oppressive, but I found myself in a large, comfortably low-ceilinged, somewhat messy sitting room, with sunlight streaming in through one of the three windows, and a homely scent of roasting meat in the air. The furnishings were new and looked expensive. To either side of us were bookcases, flanking the grate on what must be an interior wall.

"Welcome to the Balance Point," Harry said. "Severus is busy, so you have an hour to adjust, at least."

"_Snape _is going to be here?" I asked, startled.

Hermione tsked. "I apologize, Harry. I'll teach him some manners eventually."

"No you won't," Harry retorted, laughing, "and don't you dare expect it!" He turned to me. "Severus is my partner, you git! Of course he'll be here. Besides, he's the cook."

Hermione, who had been drifting towards the window, turned quickly. "Is he?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, for some things. Baking or large chunks of meat, I suppose. Things that need precision. If it's just throwing a bunch of ingredients into a pot, and you can use sage and pepper instead of rosemary and thyme, then it's mine."

I had no idea what he meant, but Hermione considered it. "So who cooks more often?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in a way that made me uneasy.

Harry must have recognized it too, because he took the time to think. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "I make lunch more often? That's always quick, though. It's probably even on supper and breakfast."

"Hm." She seemed to find this significant. Harry and I shared a confused look.

"Anyway," he said, "have a seat. May I get you something to drink?"

Hermione looked at him like he'd grown a second head, and this time I knew why. I plopped down on the sofa he'd indicated, which was new, cushiony soft, and covered in supple brown leather. "You sound like a proper hostess, mate," I chided, "but I wouldn't say no to a beer."

He ducked his head. "I'm probably channeling Aunt Petunia, which is a horrific thought, but Severus does have clients over, you know, and it's sort of ... I don't know. A useful script?" He shrugged and turned to Hermione. "And you? Beer, tea, Orangina? There'll be wine with dinner, of course." He looked sidelong at her, in a teasing sort of way. "Elderflower cordial? We even have pumpkin juice, if you like."

"Orangina would be lovely, thanks," she said. "You haven't cut off from the Muggle world, then?"

He laughed. "No. Most of our day-to-day life is among Muggles. As far as buying groceries, I'd rather do that where I'm only mildly scandalous, and we can drink in Soho with the glances no more than amused." He grinned. "Though far more knowledgeable. Hold that thought a tic."

He ducked down the hall and through a doorway. I patted the cushion next to me. "Come on, Hermione. Sit down."

"In a moment." She walked to the window. "You should see the front garden."

"Is it bizarre?" I asked, rising. I wondered if Snape had managed to find entirely black plants.

"No." She held out her arm to me, and I joined her looking out. "_Pretty_," she said, as if that offended her.

"Pretty" was the word for it. There was a trellised arch over the gate, and climbing yellow roses in riotous bloom all over it. A sea of disorganized flowers -- larkspur and foxglove and things I knew but couldn't name -- covered the space between the window and the front wall, except for a winding path, cutting through it like a river. Butterflies flitted over the bobbing blossoms. We were still staring when a slight cough came from behind us, and we turned guiltily to face Harry. His cheeks were red.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" he said, his voice a bit high. "I was all set to hold out for a place on some island somewhere, and then Severus showed me this. I fell in love with the gardens, and he was already smitten with the cellars, and then.... Well, I decided I could endure being in England."

"I thought you'd be in London," I said, as much to my surprise as his. I didn't recall thinking about it at all, really, but I knew now that I had been expecting someplace in a city, and what other city would Snape choose?

He shrugged. "We have a flat there, in Soho. It's someplace to come out of and go into, and a private Floo connection to here."

"What's that Floo address?" Hermione asked.

From her harsh tone, I think she expected him to put her off, but he just shot her a coy look and licked his lips. "Bohemian Fantastage."

She hid her face. "Harry...."

"Come and sit down," he coaxed.

I accepted a beer and went back to the cushy sofa. Hermione followed, and he set a weirdly shaped bottle and a glass with a few ice cubes in front of her before sitting down at the end of the sofa, so she was between us. He turned toward us, at least, but I still felt left out. "So," he said, "how have you been?"

Hermione paused in pouring her drink to frown at an ashtray on the table, which had been emptied, but not cleaned. "Fine," she said. "Let's talk about you, instead."

His eyes widened, as if he had been caught out by a teacher. "Am I in trouble already?"

To show she wasn't amused, her expression darkened. "Are you working or not, Harry?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're not at the Department of Mysteries, like you told me you were."

His nose scrunched up in distaste. "I never _told _you that. You assumed it, and I let you."

"You told me--"

"I told you there was nothing I could _say_!"

Silenced, she considered this. I hadn't tried to tell her. I'd seen it, but had let Harry evade her. Perhaps I'd been wrong. Her anger faded into dull hurt far quicker than mine would have. "So, what are you doing?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "Severus and I have a business."

"You're not brewing potions!"

Even he had to smile at that. "Me? No! We're in apothecary supply."

"Apothecary supply?"

I sympathized with her confusion. Even if they had production gardens in the back, that couldn't possibly make enough to cover this sort of spending. Though Harry did imply they'd got a lot for the basilisk. Maybe if they were careful from here on....

Harry grinned and opened his own beer. "For example, my trip."

"Mm?" she prompted, around a sip of florescent orange liquid.

"We'd had news from Greece that a pregnant hippocampus had been spotted in the Aegean. So we went there to try to get the afterbirth, but it turned out that the reason the mare had been noticeably pregnant was that she was carrying twins. The first was stillborn, and I managed to get that instead -- and it was quite the struggle, because the mare wanted to protect it, dead or not, and by the time she started in on birthing the second and had to swim up again, the dead foal had sunk into deeper waters, and I had to go through some mermaids to retrieve it."

"That all sounds terribly dangerous!" she exclaimed. She was right, but I could also see it being kind of fun.

Harry grinned. "I think if I was a touch more heterosexual, I'd have been doomed, even with earplugs and the potion Severus had given me to decrease interest. Tropical mermaids don't expect resistance, though -- they're seducers, not fighters like our northern Merpeople. I bulled through and got the body, and they didn't do worse than swarm around showing me their tits."

"Sounds rough, mate," I said, with mock sympathy.

"And where was Severus in all this?" Hermione demanded.

"Monitoring," Harry replied casually. "Except I'd gone so deep he had to meet me half-way up with a potion to fix something in my blood--"

"How do you take a potion underwater?"

"Oh, if you're on gillyweed, it's not so hard. I locked my lips tight around the phial and worked the stopper out with my teeth and tongue, that was all. Then there were sharks -- we retrieved the afterbirth on the way up, and it had already attracted some -- and Severus had to keep those off for a few minutes, while I recovered. And we'd drifted, so we had to work our way back to the boat. On the whole, it was a good job, though."

"Right. A murderous mother hippocampus, mermaids, sharks, and dive poisoning," I listed, rolling my eyes. "No problems."

Harry grinned. "Well, there was one problem...."

"Oh?"

"After the stuff he'd given me to resist the mermaids, I couldn't get interested in fucking. And usually I'd be mad to, after all of that."

Hermione cringed. I glared. He ignored us both. "And we got nearly three talents for the parts we sold in Skyos, all told, which comes to about fifteen thousand galleons. Severus kept a few scrapings, of course."

"Of course," she said dryly. "Harry, he's using you. You do the dangerous parts, and he gets rich."

"Of course I do the dangerous parts," he retorted. "They're the _fun _ones. Ron," he appealed, "what would you rather do? Deep dives in the Aegean Sea, or negotiating apothecary sales?"

"Oh, dives definitely."

"That's mad!" she said.

"How _did _you end up in Gryffindor?" I groused, and to my surprise, Hermione glanced at me and blushed.

"Oh, I told the Sorting Hat I wouldn't be bossed around by an item of clothing. Gryffindor sounded by far the most interesting of the houses."

Harry sniggered. "Glad to know I'm not the only one."

"Did it want to put you somewhere else?" she asked, and he ducked his head.

"Slytherin, actually. It said I could really make something of myself, and I'd go far in Slytherin."

My jaw dropped. _Slytherin? Harry? _Hermione made a small, thoughtful noise.

"But you didn't," she said.

He shrugged. "No. I decided I'd rather have friends who were worth something." He took her hand, and then, hesitantly, reached his other hand out to me.

I grasped it. "Good," I said, and he relaxed into a smile that showed me how tense he'd been before.

"Thanks." After a squeeze of my hand, he let go of both of us. "So," he said, "what's been happening while I've been away? Ron, have you had any brilliant cases?"

"Nah." I shrugged. "I haven't been in the field, yet. They keep saying it'll be soon. Neville's already been promoted at his nursery, though."

"Where is he working?

"Peregrine Palmer's Magical Plants."

"Seems about right."

"He's enjoying it, yeah."

"And you, Hermione?" Harry asked. I waited, curious as to what she would answer. With the way she was turned, I couldn't see much of her face, but the tilt of her head showed mischief.

"I'm afraid there's not much I can tell you," she said coyly, and he whooped.

"Excellent! I hope they have you in suitably arcane research."

"Let's just say I'm happy." She sounded impossibly smug, and he hugged her quickly.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Parvati's talking about getting everyone together," I mentioned. "Shall we pass it on, if there's an invitation?"

He nodded eagerly. "And you can give my Floo address to any of our friends. I mean, it's not a big secret, especially now that Bellatrix Lestrange is dead and Macnair is in custody."

I scowled. "And what will Snape do if Gryffindors start calling you?"

Harry smirked, and in a slightly girlish motion, set his head to one side. "Remember that I'm worth it," he answered. With a laugh, he dropped the contrived look. "Come on," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll show you around."

  


The gardens out the back were more organized and more utilitarian than the riot of blooms out front, but they were still beautiful. Harry and Snape had obviously removed some plants and replaced them with others, but each bed had something blooming in it -- lavender, or poppies, or monkshood. The afternoon was warm, and after a while, he led us under an arbor, where clematis and nightshade twined among grapevines. The bench beneath it curved, making conversation easy.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Um, Harry? You seem a little more confident than you used to." She colored. "I mean, you were always sure enough at some things, but...."

"But?" he asked, apparently as confused as I was.

"Well, I mean, you said Snape would know you were worth it. And you're not hiding your scar, anymore."

"Ah." He brushed his hand along his forehead and up his hair. "I don't mind it as much, I think. I mean, it still sometimes gets odd reactions from people, but it doesn't bother me so much _being _scarred -- or skinny, or short -- when I live with someone who loves to watch me naked."

"Harry," she said softly.

"Belt it up, mate!" I snapped. "I've heard more than enough about your sex life."

He bit his lip and shifted back on the bench. I was sorry I'd said anything. A maroon petal fell from the clematis onto the bench between us.

"It's not just sex," he said, "but yeah. Okay."

Okay, except that Hermione had laid a hand on his arm. "You can talk, Harry," she said earnestly. "And there are lots of people who think you're attractive."

"Maybe," he said, shrugging dismissively. "But that's not like knowing they do."

He stood, and stepping away from her, lit a cigarette. Hermione repellant, I thought, because I hadn't seen any twitches toward them earlier. She sighed. I picked up the fallen petal. It was soft against my thumb.

Afraid that she'd speak again, I moved into the breech. "Sorry," I said cheerfully, "but I do want to keep my appetite. Unless dinner is boiled slugs, or something."

He shot me a grateful look. "A roast and Yorkshire pudding, I believe. With mashed swede, because he likes it, and probably courgettes, because we're drowning in them."

Behind us, I heard a door shut, and I turned to see Snape coming down the steps from the kitchen. It was strange to see him without billowing professor's robes. He wasn't wearing robes at all, actually, just pressed black trousers and a loose white shirt with long, tight cuffs. I supposed they kept the fabric out of whatever he was brewing. He crossed the herb garden in a few long strides, slowing as he neared us, and stopped at Harry's shoulder.

"Hello, love."

I think my heart nearly stopped when I heard that. He held out a hand, and Harry, without a moment's thought, handed him the cigarette. Snape drew on it and passed it back, getting an unlit one in exchange.

"Thank you. I've been stuck by my cauldrons for hours." He actually smiled for a second, as he was looking down at Harry. I'm pretty sure I'd never seen Snape do that before -- certainly not in a pleasant, relaxed way. It was creepy. It was a relief to see the unnatural expression fade into something more neutral.

"All set now?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I'll need to decant the Flame Death in a few hours, but that's quickly done, once it's cool." He turned towards us, his hand settling possessively on Harry's shoulder. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger -- welcome to our home."

Dinner was surreal.


	2. Business

Less than a week later, on a Friday, Auror Batchelder called me and his other apprentice into his office. "I have good news and bad news," he said.

"Oh?"

"We have an interesting case for you to try out some skills on. And you're working this weekend."

I grinned. "Can't let the scene get cold, of course." I didn't mind. Working unexpected weekends was part of the job description.

"Exactly." He settled back in his chair. "Do you know what a firebird is?"

I didn't. I decided to risk a guess. "It sounds like another name for a phoenix."

"It does, doesn't it? And they're sometimes called the false phoenix. Someone who has seen a phoenix would never mistake the two, but if you had merely heard of the phoenix as a flaming bird, you might mistake them for each other."

"Well, I have met a phoenix," I said. "So what is a firebird like?"

"Ah. Well, first, it is much bigger, with a short, fan-shaped tail. Where the phoenix resembles a pheasant, the firebird resembles an eagle. Second, it has a normal life-span. It can, however, extend fire out from its wings, which never burn. Its eggs, likewise, are resistant to heat, the shells absorbing it and letting it out slowly. The firebird does not sit on its eggs during the day, but instead envelops them in flame for a few seconds every few hours."

"Useful in all sorts of potions, too." Geoff Eagerson, my fellow Apprentice -- or perhaps not so much fellow as rival -- was good at potions. He'd actually said that he appreciated having studied under Severus Snape, and if anything is a sign of madness, that is.

"So why does it matter?" I asked.

"Straight to the point, Mr Weasley, as always," Batchelder answered with a chuckle. "It matters because they are very rare. We had a pair nesting in the Maude Greenly Highland Preserve, and poachers went after them. One was killed, and the nest destroyed. We had to bring in Magical Creatures handlers from the Edinburgh Zoo to keep the male -- the surviving bird -- from burning down the forest."

I shuddered. Wildfire was a hard thing to fight, even from brooms, and a large bird that could shoot fire out of its wings had to be tricky to catch. Anyone could send out vines with an Incarceration hex; producing copper strapping was much harder. "Why would anyone do that?"

"As Mr. Eagerson says, they are useful in many potions. Geoff, can you list them?"

He nodded happily. "Well, the breast feathers, the down, as you'd find in the nest, is used for flame resistance, while the wing and tail feathers are used for things you want to flare up easily, like dips for torches. Because the flame is naturally magical, it responds quickly to lighting and dowsing spells. The rest of the feathers aren't particularly useful, but they are commercially prized for hair potions that add shine. The egg shells are good for a long, slow release of heat, or for tempering the burn of something like dragon's blood." He blushed. "Um, the egg itself adds potency to various aphrodisiacs that intensify or alter sensation, and the claws were traditionally integrated into fire tools, such as pokers, but of course the manufacture of such objects has been prohibited since the birds gained protected status in...."

He was trying to remember. I know bugger-all about firebirds in potions, but I'm turning out to be rather good at law -- possibly because my girlfriend has endless patience in quizzing me. "As part of the Magical Resources Husbandry Act of 1972?" I guessed.

"Good job, both of you." He opened a file on his desk. "Now, it's a bit late to go up to Scotland today, but the site has been briefly looked over and encircled with a Disturb Not charm. We'll look for evidence tomorrow and probably into Sunday."

"Shouldn't we be looking at sales channels?" I asked. "Apothecaries, that sort of thing?"

He nodded. "We have another team on that. It takes a while to work contacts into that sort of community. Potions brewers are a notoriously close-lipped lot, and apothecaries aren't much better."

I thought of Snape, and had to laugh. "I'm not surprised."

"Aren't there legal suppliers of Firebird materials, too?" Eagerson asked.

"Yes, so that complicates things. A bill of sale from one of the breeders is easy to fake."

We progressed into looking at the file -- it had pictures of a skinned, dead bird, and a clump of sticks with a few drips of egg yolk that was labeled "dismantled nest". The notes informed us that if there was a second or third egg, they were taken intact. Three was the most a pair would brood, and two was a more common set. Through it all, I found myself thinking about Harry. This wasn't included, was it, when he said collected potions ingredients? He had talked about his business, and he wouldn't do that if he was doing something illegal, would he?

Batchelder laid out another picture that showed the nest from further back. It was perched on a high crag, far above a steep slope of scrubby pine. Eagerson shuddered. "How did anyone get up there?"

"Broom," I said.

He gestured at the bobbing sticks in the photograph. "That height? In that wind?"

"Any Quidditch player could do it," I scoffed.

He snorted. "Like any professional Quidditch player would risk that sort of trouble."

"I didn't say 'professional.' _I _could do it. My little sister -- hell, any of my siblings could do it. Even Percy, I bet. Harry could do it with one hand tied behind his back."

That wasn't the problem, really. The problem was that he'd love it.

  


The next day, I returned to Auror offices with my throat stinging from the ash that was still floating around the area of the male firebird's rage. My fingers brushed over a small, soft, warm feather in my pocket. I'd found it caught in a tree at the site. The softness reminded me of a flower petal, and what Snape had been brewing when we'd visited -- Flame Death potion. That would be handy around an angry firebird. I didn't want to believe Harry would do this, but I didn't doubt Snape would. How far would Harry go in obeying him? I stayed only long enough to ditch my Apprentice Auror robes and wash my face and hands, and then apparated to a grove near the Balance Point.

After getting my bearings, I walked out to the lane. A short distance down the hill was a pretty stone cottage with a short wall around the front garden and a tall one around the back gardens and small barn. I'd never seen it from a distance like this, but I recognized the layout, and when I grew closer, the trellised gate. My shoulder brushed a rose as I stepped inside. I wondered if Snape ever scratched himself on the thorns.

Harry answered the door. He was wearing normal Muggle clothes -- jeans and socks and a dark red sweatshirt that almost hid the collar.

"Ron?" he asked, surprised. "Is everything okay? You look--"

He looked alarmed, which wasn't unreasonable, considering how much planning had gone into my last visit. I cut him off. "Just work."

"Ah." He bit his lip. "Want to come in?"

"I want to get home, really," I said awkwardly. "Just -- look, you don't know anything about a firebird killing, do you?"

He stiffened, and my chest tightened around my heart.

"Just that it happened," he said. There was something off about his expression -- not quite like he was lying, but like I was a teacher or something, and he was being cautious.

"How do you know that?"

He rolled his eyes. "The British potions community isn't exactly large, Ron. Arsenius firecalled Severus about it yesterday."

That made sense, I supposed. "This isn't something you were involved in, then?"

"No." His expression hardened, and he stayed focused on me with that look that Snape used to call defiant. I was sure he was hiding something from me. I wondered if he and Snape had argued about it, and Snape had had to do his own dirty work.

"_Were you there?_" I asked.

"No!" he snapped. "Is this an interrogation or not, Ron? Because if it is, I'm fairly sure you're supposed to tell me, and probably be in uniform."

I let out a breath. "Just me," I said. "Harry, it was awful. An acre of trees burned, and when you're standing there...."

He stepped forward and gave me an awkward hug. "I didn't have anything to do with it," he said softly, and this time he sounded sincere. He coughed slightly as he stepped back. "And you do reek. Go home and take a bath, okay?"

"Wait," I said. "Flame Death potion. Snape was brewing it. Why?"

He nudged me. "Because he smokes in bed, idiot. We use Flame Death every time we wash the bedclothes."

I nodded. That made sense. I'd been letting my imagination run away with me.

"All right then." I stepped down off the doorstep. "Are you coming to the Leaky on Monday?"

"Parvati's thing?" he said. "Yeah, of course. I'll see you there, okay?"

"Okay."

  


By Sunday afternoon, I wondered if I'd be there. We were out at the site again, and Sunday dinner at Mum and Dad's must have already started. I hoped Hermione was enjoying it without me.

"Should I look for magical signatures?" Eagerson asked. He was keen to try everything that we were learning in our Auror training sessions. I waited for Auror Batchelder to say that was a waste of time, but instead he nodded slowly. "Good idea."

"Sir?" I said. "Aren't magical signatures pretty much useless unless you happen to know the one you find?" I remembered the theory as well as Eagerson did. You could capture a magical signature, but there was no way to explain it. It was like a scent. You could take a sample of something and wave it under people's noses, but either they recognized it or they didn't, and you couldn't preserve it for later. It wasn't like height, which you can measure, or colors, which you can photograph and even kind of describe.

"That's the limitation," he replied, "but the British magical community isn't exactly large, especially now. Chances are better than you might think."

Magical signatures don't last very long. Captured or not captured, the limit is about a week. Naturally, we were put directly on scouring the site for them, despite a hard, cold rain that managed to leak past my hood and erode my warming charm. So much for any chance of getting to dinner at the Burrow.

Geoff Eagerson, who had been a year ahead of me at Hogwarts, didn't seem to mind. I wondered if that was because he had been a Hufflepuff, or because this had been his idea. We found a magical signature directly at the site, and both thought it seemed vaguely familiar, but neither of us could attach it to a person.

"What does that tell you?" Batchelder asked. It was a master's question. I wondered if he had agreed to this because it was good training.

"It's someone who's cast magic around us, but not that we were paying attention to," Eagerson answered.

"Which doesn't help!" I pointed out. "That could be anyone who was at Hogwarts when we were!"

Batchelder nodded. "Or anyone who uses magic around the Auror offices or the Ministry lobby. Or any friend of your families."

Eagerson finally seemed to get it. "That's not much help," he said, shoulders sagging.

"Ah, but who does it eliminate?"

Now I was the one who suddenly got it. "People we've worked with directly. Our families. Anyone who was in our dormitory rooms. Our--" I amended what I had been going to say. "_Most _of our teachers."

"Most?"

"Not all of them used spells regularly. I wouldn't recognize Snape's magical signature, for example. Or Hooch's."

"Ah. A good point."

We made the circuit of the places that you could watch the nest from. On the facing ridge, in a rock that jutted out from the scrub of Scotch pine, Eagerson cried out in excitement.

"Found one! It must have been strong magic."

We moved toward the spot. Eagerson collected the trace, and then released a little for us to test. Batchelder shook his head, and I moved forward.

I knew this one. It was bright and dark at once, active and strong, and flowed over me like warm laughter.

I felt sick.

"Weasley?"

Batchelder sounded concerned. I squeezed my eyes shut. "Harry."

  


On that windy ridge, in the rain, I confessed that I had already spoken to Harry, and most of why. We portkeyed back to London, and Batchelder obtained a warrant for his arrest. I said it should extend to Snape too, but Batchelder said we didn't have the evidence for that. I thought it was stupid, and he agreed, but apparently some of the excesses of the Fudge administration had left their mark on current code. We were specifically prohibited against using association -- even with obvious shared interest -- as an indication of probable guilt.

I asked if I could make the arrest, but I was rather surprised when Batchelder agreed. Now, standing in front of the small stone cottage, I wondered if this was another test.

Harry answered the door. That was convenient in one way -- with any luck, Snape was brewing and wouldn't interfere -- but awkward in another, as it left me on the doorstep. I couldn't just walk in when I was on business, and I didn't feel I could ask him to invite me in and then arrest him.

His eyes swept down my body, taking in my two-tone Apprentice Auror robes. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I don't know if it was the assumed confusion or the innocent tone, but I suddenly didn't care that we were in sight of the lane. No one was around anyway. I raised my wand. "Harry James Potter, you are under arrest--"

_"What?"_

"For suspicion of poaching, trespassing on private lands, and willful harm to an endangered magical species."

"I told you--" he started, but I didn't let him continue.

"And you LIED!" My throat hurt with the force of it. I wanted to pummel him, to make it that personal, to keep it about _us._ But I couldn't; I had orders, and I was supposed to be professional.

He hesitated, a little shift in his expression that would have told me he was lying even if I hadn't known. "Why would you think--"

"Oh, I don't know," I said scornfully. "Maybe we _looked_? Gathered evidence?" Protocol forgotten, I stepped forward, crossing the threshold. He stepped back, a sure sign of guilt from him. "What did you _think _we did?"

He glared. "I wasn't--"

"_Your _magical signature, Harry. I know it as well as my own. A big burst of power, a few days ago."

Understanding broke through. "Oh hell," he said softly.

My hand was clenched into a fist. I dug the nails into my palm, telling myself I _couldn't _hurt him. I might never make it to Auror if I gave into the impulse to smash his face.

"Look," he said quickly, "I was just looking. I didn't kill them, I swear it."

"Why would I believe you?" I asked furiously. I trained my wand on him again, and held out my left hand. "Your wand, Harry."

Hesitantly, he dropped his wand from his sleeve. I could see him calculating what he had to lose and finding it too much. He flipped the wand over, offering me the grip.

"Look," he said again. "If you'll just listen, I can explain--"

I sealed the wand for evidence before I touched it. "It doesn't matter," I snapped. "I wasn't alone. Even if I was willing to cover for you -- and I'm _not _\-- I couldn't hide my reaction. Not when I was taken by surprise."

He winced. "Fine. You have to arrest me. I get that. But you know me--"

"I DON'T!" I hated him for just a moment, my best friend turned criminal, with the gall to look _hurt_. Then my attention fell below his face to that damned collar, and the hatred all shifted to someone else.

"Take that _thing _off."

"What?"

"The collar." How could he not know what I meant? "Take it off."

He shifted back, his hand rising to the studded leather -- not to comply, but in a protective gesture. My nerves sang. Something was wrong here -- seriously wrong. Could Snape be controlling him more coercively than we had thought? Was the collar cursed? Was Harry, maybe, unable to understand what he had done? My mind leapt eagerly toward the thought. If he was cursed, he wouldn't be responsible -- that would all fall on Snape. I took another step forward. "Take it _off_, Harry."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

"Don't you think that's a little odd?" I said. "That you won't do that for me?"

The sound that came out of him was not so much a laugh as incredulous choking. "Nothing odd about it," he retorted. "Stop being a prat, Ron."

"He's RUINING you!" I shouted. "Can't you see it? Everyone else does!"

"Shut up!" Harry snapped back, and I came at him, intent on removing the foul thing myself. His snarl turned to a smirk as my hands neared his neck, and I recalled what had happened to the man in the bar. Quickly, I cast a shielding spell on myself -- not the rough battle shield we learned at Hogwarts, but a precise one taught to Aurors for dealing with cursed objects -- tucked my wand away, and reached for the heavy buckle of the collar.

My spell wasn't enough. It kept me from getting thrown back into the roses, certainly, but I couldn't undo the clasp. My hand brushed leather and metal for only an instant before being repelled several inches. Harry relaxed.

"You're a complete imbecile, you know," he said conversationally, taking a smooth step back into the cover of the house. "I imagine that--"

There was a sharp pop of displaced air, and Severus Snape was in the narrow space between us, his wand already out. Reflexively, I moved back.

"Harry?" he asked, his sharp look never leaving me. I'd been doing a lot of combat training over the last month. For perhaps the first time, I recognized that focus for what it was. Snape was a seasoned fighter.

"He's arresting me," Harry said. He sounded exasperated -- more evidence that he might not be processing things normally. "And he tried to take the collar off."

Snape frowned. His wand tip lowered a fraction. I looked solidly back at him. "Please step aside," I said. "You are interfering with official Auror business." The formula was a lot politer than I wanted to be.

Much to my irritation, he did. I had hoped he'd interfere, so I could arrest him as well. Apparently dismissing me as an immediate threat, he glanced in Harry's direction.

"Arresting you?" he asked. "Why?"

"Ah, well...." Harry ducked his head. He looked like he'd been caught passing notes during class, not like he might go to prison. "You know those firebirds?"

Snape's frowned deepened. "You had nothing to do with--"

"Oh, of course not!" Harry said. "But I'd gone up to scout, you know -- there was this rocky outlook across the ridge, and they picked up my magical signature there, probably from when I Apparated out."

Snape managed to look angry. I didn't believe for an instant that he hadn't told Harry what to do, but he was managing to not give me a shred of evidence.

"I have told you before that you are _not _to go off without my approval!"

Harry looked down. "Sorry, sir."

"You might become _very _sorry if they decide to make you this scapegoat for this debacle," Snape warned. "Innocence will not save you, Harry. I'll send you a solicitor. Hold your tongue around everyone else." He glared at me. "_Everyone _else."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, as meekly as a Hufflepuff. He turned to me and sighed. "All right. Let's go."

  


We Apparated directly to the holding area at Auror headquarters. Collier looked up, his eyes widening as he got a look at my prisoner. He came quickly to his feet. "Apprentice Weasley," he said formally, though his eyes continued to dart back to Harry. I returned his nod.

"Apprentice Collier." I gestured at Harry. The impulse to introduce him warred with protocols I'd learned more recently. "A suspect in the firebird case," I said, and Collier's jaw dropped. "Book him." I hadn't imagined the first time I said those words would feel so awful. "Oh, and I want tests done on that collar. I think it might be cursed."

"You WHAT?" Harry exploded.

I turned to face him. He was furious, finally. Glaring defiance like I had expected from the start. About the damned _collar_. "Will you _think_?" I demanded. Maybe now I could get through to him. "That level of protective magic--"

"Is perfectly normal!" he shouted. "Are you mental? Half the shops in Diagon Alley use something like that for displays."

"You are _not _a display!"

Infuriatingly, he settled down at that. "The collar is," he replied cheekily.

I turned my back on him. "So," I said to Collier, "tests. Have someone from Cursebreaking come down and run a full battery on it."

Still stunned, he nodded. "Cursebreaking," he said numbly. "Right." He gestured to the book by the wall. "I need you to fill out a few details, Mr. Potter. Will you be requesting a Ministry solicitor?"

Harry snorted. "Not bloody likely. I don't want a wolf to guard my owlery, either."

Collier coughed. I had to hold back a smile. Harry was in there somewhere.

  


I stopped by the office I shared with Eagerson, Ghesser, and Boot, and I filled out the paperwork from arresting Harry. It was odd to write about him as "Potter." It sounded spiteful in my head, as if I was channeling Malfoy. We tended to use first names within Gryffindor, and even some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws used to call him Harry. Got a thrill out of being that familiar to him, I suspect. Harry never objected; he wasn't the sort to.

When I finished with that, Batchelder still hadn't returned to release me, so I dropped by to check on Harry, and see if Auror Batchelder was there. Harry was still alone -- no Snape hovering in the corridor, no Batchelder asking him questions. I hadn't expected the solicitor yet, considering it was Sunday. Snape was probably efficiently destroying evidence while Batchelder argued for a search warrant.

Harry looked coldly at me. "Auror Weasley," he said haughtily.

"Put a sock in it, Harry," I said angrily. "And I'm not a full Auror yet."

"I can't believe you'd arrest me."

"What, do you think I'd let someone else do it?"

That did something. Maybe it just reminded us both who we were, but his shoulders went down. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

For a moment, I thought he was about to confess. My breath stopped.

"I shouldn't have lied to you," he said. "I was trying to keep you out of it -- to keep it out of _us _\-- and I've just made things worse."

"So tell me the truth," I challenged, and got back a wry smile.

"I'd gone to scout," he said. "But when I arrived, they were already dead. I was there less than ten seconds."

I groaned in frustration. "How can I believe you?"

He shrugged. "I don't really want veritaserum, but if you'll limit questioning to that--"

"And if Snape used you?" I asked, nodding at the collar. "Maybe there are things you don't know."

"You don't know him!" he shot back hotly.

"Oh, I think --"

"Apprentice Weasley?" Collier interrupted. "The Cursebreaker is here."

The Cursebreaker was an earnest looking fellow, by my guess a few years older than my brother Bill. "Hi," he said informally. "Phillip. Something you wanted me to examine?"

I pointed towards Harry. "That collar. I'm looking for any Dark magic, control curses, that sort of thing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You won't find it," he said to Phillip.

"Ah?" Phillip asked, raising his eyebrows skeptically. "The victim often doesn't know, you know."

I was pleased. He looked curious, but neither worshipful nor contemptuous of Harry. When he asked me if he could enter the cell, I said yes.

"But--!" Collier objected.

"What?"

"He's Harry Potter! I mean, isn't he _dangerous_?"

I didn't know where to begin on an answer. Fortunately, Harry seemed ready for this question. "I've decided to cooperate," he said, "obviously. It would be foolish to waste that now."

Phillip cocked his head to study us. "Weren't the two of you close friends?"

Harry and I looked at each other. From where I stood, a bar obscured one of his eyes. He shrugged. "Yeah," he said, "the best. But that doesn't keep him from being an idiot."

"I'm doing what needs to be done!" I snapped back, and he nodded.

"Yeah, I get that. Like I did investigating your family. It doesn't make this side feel any better, you know."

For a moment, I couldn't think what he was talking about. And I knew that was good, really, when it finally dawned on me. All that rage and resentment and hurt and fear for Bill had faded into our history. It gave me hope that this disaster might too. "Yeah." I brought my hand up to his. There was room for my wrist to go between the bars. We clasped hands. "I know."

"The door, then?" Phillip said, and Collier unlocked the door for him while I stepped back, feeling the heat in my cheeks that meant they were turning from near-white to scarlet. "Don't touch it!" I warned Phillip. "It will send you flying!"

Phillip looked thoughtful after the first spell he cast, and cheerful after the third. "Well, I can say there's no Dark magic of any sort," he announced. "No control or compulsion. What am I looking for, exactly?"

"He's too calm," I answered.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry said mockingly. "Was I supposed to panic?"

"You're supposed to take this seriously! Merlin's bollocks, Harry! You could go to prison for years."

"Oh!" Phillip exclaimed, as if this helped. "Let's see...."

Another diagnostic spell, and then another. He looked at Harry. "I'm going to touch it," he said, drawing his wand, and Harry nodded. "Shall I...?" he asked, lifting his hand, but Phillip shook his head. "Let it run its course."

Phillip touched his collar. Despite Harry's consent, he went flying. He sat on the floor of the cell, his wand trained on Harry, for several seconds. "All right," he said finally. "Reassure her."

Harry snorted as he touched the collar, and Phillip bit his lip. "Er, him? I seem to recall something odd...."

"Severus Snape?" Harry prompted, raising his eyebrows, and Phillip, getting to his feet, shuddered dramatically.

"I can't imagine, but whatever lifts your broom. Let me see...."

More spells, with one sending off pink sparks, and the next a glow of gold, and the third a line like a blade of darkened steel. Phillip lowered his wand and turned to me.

"It's a standard love token -- well, no, a top-shelf one, really -- I mean all the features, but nothing unusual, if it was in a gold ring."

"Repulsion charms?"

"More common than you might think. Potter? Care to show him?"

Harry bit his lip for a moment, but then nodded. He touched the collar, and then Phillip touched it. Nothing happened.

"He can negate the repulsion with a touch and a brief exertion of will," Phillip explained. "Or allow the repulsion, but negate the subsequent alarm to the linked piece."

I recalled Severus appearing between us. Apparently, my brief touch to the collar had summoned him -- and Harry had let it.

"It also has a locational signal, so one partner can find the other through triangulation, and a basic indication of health. The most trivial charm is one that allows one partner to signal the other with yes or no."

That didn't sound trivial to me. "So we should remove it," I guessed.

He shook his head. "They're usually left, with a suppression field imposed when the couple are in sight of each other. After all, if you take it off, it will feel to his... to Professor Snape as if he had died."

Now that was a thought. Was there actually a procedure for this sort of thing? Phillip looked like he'd been around a while. "I'll ask my Master," I said absently.

Harry twitched.

"All right?" I asked him. I wondered if one of the diagnostic spells had hurt him.

"Fine," he said. Collier led Phillip out. He seemed to be taking care of the bureaucratic end as well.

"Now will you listen?" Harry asked.

"I thought you were forbidden to talk," I retorted.

He shrugged. "I'm really not very biddable, you know. Snape knows those sorts of commands are a gamble."

"I thought you obeyed him."

"Yeah, sure. I'll wear -- or not wear -- anything he says, wait for him on my knees, wank in his sight while he's talking on the Floo -- anything he wants." He leaned back against the wall. "If it's not pleasure, though, or at least business.... Come on, Ron. You know I do what I think best."

That was ... encouraging. Except for disposing of his most likely excuse. "I'd just hoped--"

"That he made me?" Harry said wryly. "I don't know why you think _he'd_ do it either."

"A whole load of money," I said.

"Yeah, but only once. And this has threatened the supply chain for years. And he may like the money, but he's a potions brewer first."

"So you wouldn't have touched them," I said disbelievingly

"We wouldn't have _killed _them," Harry corrected. "If you keep a nesting pair under watch, you can get the shells after the eggs hatch, and the breast feathers after the fledglings leave the nest."

"And the adult plumage?"

He shrugged. "You'll find a feather or two most days, I've heard. That adds up."

"Or you can kill them and make a fortune."

"True," he said, "but nothing the next year. If you kill them, it's a one time thing. If you don't, they nest in the same place the next year, and you can do it all again."

I studied him, trying to decide if this made sense, or if it was just Harry getting out of trouble. He rubbed his eyes over his face, looking suddenly tired. "Get me some cigarettes, anyway?" he asked.

"Hermione would kill me."

"Yeah, but...." He swallowed. I waited for him to say that I owed him. I'd've stormed off if he had.

"But we're _friends_," he said finally, "and I'm stuck here."

I couldn't argue with that. "All right," I said.

  


He called a brand name after me, which turned out to be a good thing -- the Muggle corner shop I tried had a wider array of cigarettes than sweets. The kid behind the counter -- okay, he was probably my age -- asked if I wanted matches, and I started to say no, but then remembered that Harry didn't have a wand. I could probably leave him matches; as I recalled, they didn't work very well.

All throughout the walk there and back, I thought about what he'd said. I wanted to believe it, but then I wanted to believe anything that would let me think he was innocent. I wondered if I should ask to be taken off the case. Would that look mature, or just cowardly? And there was still the matter of him lying to me, though that might just be an indication that things weren't really fixed between us.

Harry grinned at me when I showed up again. I handed him the cigarettes and matches.

"You forgot your glamour," he said.

He was right. I still appeared to be dressed like a Muggle. I dropped the glamour and let my Apprentice Auror robes reappear. When I looked back at him, he was smirking around a cigarette.

"I love you, you know," he said conversationally, after blowing out a stream of smoke. "Which is a good thing for you, because you'd be so easy to get in trouble."

"I should get taken off this case," I said.

"Probably," he answered. "Or you could talk to Severus. He might have other ideas."

"I think I'll head home now," I answered.

"Wait!" Harry slid two more cigarettes from the pack and passed the pack back to me. "Keep this for me?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm bored out of my mind and will blow through them till they're gone, right?"

"Right." I sighed. "Okay."

  


Batchelder returned while I was writing up what Harry said about how Severus wouldn't do this. I showed it to him and said I thought I should be off the case, but he shook his head and clapped me on the shoulder and told me I was handling it fine. I filed the report and went home.

Hermione was at my flat. She put down her book as soon as I stepped through the Floo and stood to greet me. For a few minutes, I just held her close and let myself drown in one of her kisses.

"Rough day?" she asked wryly.

"You wouldn't believe."

She gave me another kiss, this time a quick one on the cheek. "Poor dear," she said teasingly. "I brought home leftovers."

I followed her into the kitchen. "My family doesn't have leftovers."

"Very well. I fought through a pack of ginger hyenas and brought you hard-won booty."

"That I'll believe."

She had pork, applesauce, and potatoes already arranged on a plate, and when I sat, she added some salad. "I didn't want it to wilt from the warming charm," she explained, sitting across from me and pouring wine for both of us. "So, what kept you?"

I waited until she had put down her glass and moved her hand away from it. "I arrested Harry."

"What?" The exclamation, question, objection -- whatever it might have been -- was barely a whisper.

"We searched the crime scene for magical signatures. I know his."

"Oh." She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Harry!"

Potato stuck in my throat. I swallowed hard. "He says he didn't do it."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know. I didn't at all, at first. He got a little more convincing when we'd both calmed down, but I know I _want _to be convinced. I also know he lied to me before. I told Batchelder he should take me off the case, but thinks I'm doing okay."

"Does he have a solicitor?"

"Snape is getting him one, supposedly. If he hasn't shown by noon tomorrow, I'll ask, but no one would be let in past five on a Sunday."

"Snape was there when you arrested him?"

"Just at the end. I tried to get the collar off Harry. Apparently, if he doesn't touch it after someone else does, Snape shows up."

"Oh, I've heard of those charms! They started out as something used on chastity belts -- without the off switch, of course. They're now frequently used to prevent theft."

"Ah. The Cursebreaker said they're used on wedding rings."

"I wouldn't see why. The common ones for wedding rings are locational spells, a crude health monitor, and a way to signal consent or objection -- you know, so if I saw you accepting an invitation to beers with Seamus on a night that we're supposed to be--"

"Got it. Yeah, well the collar has all of those too. The Cursebreaker said every charm on it -- or maybe he said every _other _charm on it -- so maybe not the anti-theft charm."

"I'm not sure if it's a good sign or a bad one that I understood that."

"Good, from where I sit." Ron reached across to squeeze her hand. "Anyway, that crushed my hope that Snape was using it to control him."

"Hm. So what does he say he did?"

"He said he Apparated in to scout the nest, but the eggs were gone and the bird dead, so he Apparated right out again."

"That's not very convincing." She frowned. "Especially after telling you before that he hadn't been there at all."

"Right. But later he said that Snape wouldn't do it that way -- that if you kill one of the birds and crush the eggs rather than waiting for them to hatch, there aren't any eggs there next year, and you've missed out."

"Oh, that's a point. I expect he'd like a steady supply." Hermione rubbed her forehead as she thought. I hoped she'd say something helpful, something that made it all make sense, but her next words just echoed my thoughts.

"I don't want to lose him."

  


Officially, I had Monday off, but I knew it was acceptable -- expected, even -- for me to stop by the office to check in on the case. And of course, I had to visit Harry. _That _was a disturbing pair of reasons. I waited until visiting hours and Hermione came with me. I don't think they would have let us in at the same time if I hadn't been an Auror, but as it was they took her information and waved us through to the cells.

Harry was pacing like a wildcat. I passed him the cigarettes despite Hermione being right there.

"Thanks," he said, over Hermione's "Ron!" and lit one.

"How's it going?" I asked. He shrugged.

"I've refused to answer more questions until I talk to a solicitor. Severus sent an owl saying that he was meeting with one, and would come in once that was settled, and would bring books."

"Books?" I asked stupidly.

Hermione sighed, and Harry almost smiled. "He's _been _in prison, you know. He'll probably take advantage of my boredom to give me things he thinks I ought to read, because by now, I'd read almost anything."

"Want some Quidditch magazines?" I asked.

"That would be brilliant."

  


"Where's Harry?" was of course the question that greeted us when we arrived at the Leaky. All of the other latest Gryffindor school-leavers were there, with some older housemates, like Angelina and Katie.

I gestured for them to settle down. A hush fell over the table; I must have looked grim. I realized I hadn't seen Neville since arresting Harry. "An MLE investigation," I said, keeping it as vague as possible. "He's being held for questioning."

"Harry?" Parvati shrieked. "For _what_?" She looked on the verge of laughter. Seamus, on the other hand, was clearly horrified, and Lavender frightened.

"I can't really talk about it," I said.

Neville laid a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. They'd obviously been through at least one round. "Rough, mate."

"Yeah," I agreed. "So, anyway -- he says hi."

"Is he in Azkaban?" Lavender asked, wide-eyed.

"We don't usually put people there before conviction," I said tightly. "Not unless they're a flight risk. Harry's been cooperating."

Parvati snorted. "And that means he has something up his sleeve."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked angrily.

"Oh, really! It's like Fred and George Weasley cooperating."

"He apparently cooperates with Snape," Seamus put in slyly.

Lavender screamed with laughter. "That's more what's up his trousers, isn't it?"

"Lav!"

"Oh, hush, Ron! Any boy can be led around by the prick."

I winced. "Can we please talk about something else?"

There was a moment of everyone looking lost, and then Lavender, never one to refuse a request for social fluff, took a deep breath and dove in. "Michael Corner's party," she said. "Who's invited?"

"I am!" Parvati said.

"I'm going with Ginny," Neville said, darting a look at me.

"Ginny?" I asked. I didn't think I'd heard anything about this party. "Ginny was invited?"

"Well, they _were _an item," Parvati pointed out. "And the point of having the party this week was to squeeze it in before our newest batch of legal adults goes back to school."

"He's promised a very generous bar," Lavender added.

Hermione frowned. "Maybe I should go, then. What if someone falls overboard?"

Parvati raised her eyes heavenward. "Don't talk like a Muggle! Wizard yachts have charms for that."

"Michael Corner has a yacht?" I asked, confused. "I didn't know he was rich."

"It's recent, apparently," Lavender said airily. "A great, great-uncle, or some such."

"His direct descendents all died in the war," Parvati added airily. "Terrible, really." She didn't look sincere about it.

"Well, I'll give it a miss," I said, not willing to admit I hadn't been invited. It was probably because of that time that Corner dated Ginny; we'd never got on. "Neville, you'll look after Ginny, won't you?"

Relieved, he nodded. "Of course."

"And don't bring her home too drunk or too late. Mum will have fits."

  


On Tuesday, Harry's arrest hit the papers, with some wild speculation attached. I'd expected that, and tried to not think about it. I hadn't expected an owl from Snape, requesting that I meet him in a Muggle tearoom near the Ministry. I agreed, but told Batchelder about it. When I showed up, I was ready for an attack or a bribe, but what Snape offered was an entirely acceptable agreement. He said he was conducting his own investigation through contacts in apothecary sales, and would pass on any salient information he gained. In return, he wanted me to come in as a witness if he caught wind of any suspicious transactions. I agreed.

On Wednesday, Harry was out on bail.


	3. Family

Thursday night, I ended up home alone. Neville was out at Corner's party, and Hermione had begged off coming over, saying she had research to catch up on. I ate some take-away curry and then settled on the sofa with the evening paper, trying to read about the upcoming Cannons/Magpies match, and for once, not really being able to care. I was reviewing the speculation about the Cannon's Seeker's shoulder injury when there was a crack of Apparation. Ginny and Neville appeared by the grate and stumbled apart.

"Gin?" I was on my feet in an instant. Her sheer robes -- nothing I'd seen before -- were open, her blouse half undone, and her hair a mess. She looked far more than drunk; her wild eyes didn't quite focus as she lunged back towards Neville.

"I don't know what she had!" he said quickly, probably to stave off a hexing from me as she hung off his shoulder and sucked on his ear. "I got her out of there before anyone could take advantage. Help!"

Racing over, I grabbed Ginny and tried to pull her off of him, but that just made her moan.

Don't you want me?" she said to him "Thought you did."

"We may need to take her to St. Mungo's," Neville managed, pulling one of her hands off his crotch.

"Mum'll go spare! She'll never be let out of the house again!"

Ginny let go of Neville, but only to turn and latch onto me like I was her long-lost lover rather than an irritating older brother. I jerked my head back and her kiss landed on my jaw. She started licking it.

"Ron," she panted. "Neville won't. Please."

"Aphrodisiac," Neville said.

"Obviously!" I exploded, trying to push her away. My hand itched for my wand, but I knew better. One of my Auror classes had covered hex and potion interactions -- using magic on someone in her state might endanger her mind, depending on what had caused it. Fortunately, I'd told Neville about that lesson. Instead of trying to Stupefy her, he darted for the Floo powder.

"The Balance Point!" he shouted at the flames.

"You can't--" I began, but he'd already stuck his head in. I wanted to scream. He was going to ask Snape to help Ginny, days after I'd arrested Harry?

"Harry!" he called through the flames, his voice echoing back to me as if I were sitting at the top of the chimney. "Harry! Are you there? It's Neville! I need help!"

I couldn't see, but I could hear Harry's voice, faint and strange.

"This had better be an emergency."

"Yes!"

Neville's voice squeaked at the end. I would have worried more about it if Ginny hadn't been rutting up against the side of my thigh. Her braids had come loose from her hairdo, and they slapped against my face as she tossed her head.

"Ron. Ron, you've _got _to fuck me. I know you don't want to, but _please_."

Neville pulled his head out of the fire. "Bring her," he said, and stepped through. I seized Ginny's hand and followed.

We stumbled out of the grate, not in the front room, but in the bedroom. I had never wanted to see Harry like this. He was shirtless, his skin decorated with swirls and angles of something red. He wore a milder collar in a thin, supple-looking suede, but a lead was hooked into the ring, and at the other end of the lead was Snape. We had interrupted them. Snape wore a house robe in -- of all things -- burgundy that showed several inches of bare and bony ankle. Of all reds, it was the easiest to see him in. It looked like a deep pool of blood. His expression was strange, as if he wasn't quite with us.

I glanced back to Harry. He, also, looked like a man in a trance, his eyes half-closed. His gaze lifted to flick over us, and then, apparently unconcerned, dropped again. Below the waist, he wore a loose garment that was somewhere between pajama bottoms and demure harem pants. They were emerald green and silk and did nothing to either obscure or contain his erection. Indeed, the fabric shimmered in bright lines to where it was pulled tight out in a point.

"Don't stare, Weasley," Snape said. "That is _mine_."

"As if--" I began, but Ginny -- who had apparently been momentarily disoriented by the Floo travel, recovered and pounced on Harry, who yelped with surprise. In a moment, she was thrusting up against his thigh, moaning and crying. Her hand went to his erection and grabbed, getting in a full stroke before he recovered enough to seize her wrist.

"Gin..." Harry looked more present than he had been -- he was twisting away from her -- and Snape smirked.

"I see the problem," he said. "You require assistance?" He rested a hand in Harry's hair, but did nothing to fend Ginny off of him. Harry stopped squirming, but kept hold of her wrist. He didn't seem to know what else to do.

"Never mind. I'll take her to St. Mungo's. Neville--"

"How much more humiliating for her," Snape said coldly. "Far better that I treat her here. You have not attempted spell work, I hope?"

"Of course not!" I said indignantly, although three months ago I wouldn't have known not to. The bastard slid behind Harry and whispered in his ear before pulling clear again, dropping the lead so it dangled from Harry's neck to the cluttered floor.

"Harry. Pin Miss Weasley to the bed."

"Don't you dare, Harry!"

Snape's eyes flashed as he looked at me. "If you wish me to help her, she must be restrained."

Harry was already pushing Ginny back towards the bed. Merlin, the thing was enormous! A four-poster that could have slept four -- maybe six, if they were cozy -- of heavy, dark, carved wood. The coverings were in green and gold, which might have been a compromise, but looked more like a sylvan fantasy. She backed up willingly -- no, eagerly -- scrambling back on her bum to spread her legs for him, and he crawled over her in a manner I didn't like at all, especially as his thin garment was still tented obscenely. I lurched forward, and Neville grabbed for my arms.

Whispering to Ginny, Harry closed a dark shackle on one of her wrists. I froze. I hadn't noticed them in the shadows of the drapes, but there was a shackle chained to each post of the bed. Harry secured the second one, and she arched up into him, screaming with lust. He didn't push back, but he didn't pull away, either. After a moment, he began to crawl backwards down the bed.

"Pretty girl," he soothed, close enough to hear now, as he closed a shackle on her feet.

"Back," she gasped, beckoning, and when he shook his head, began to wail. Snape winced. Catching at Harry's lead, he gave it a quick, hard tug.

"Shut her up," he commanded. "Stick your cock in her mouth if you have to."

Harry looked mischievously at me.

"If you _dare_\--" I began.

"Oh, I don't think I'll need to be that drastic."

"Please," she gasped. "Please, Harry, need--"

"Yeah," he said soothingly, crawling up the edge of the bed, just out of her reach. "I know." He lay down to one side of her and began kissing her. She snogged back desperately, her hips rising to hump air. It did mute her noises, but I wasn't sure I found it an improvement. His bum wasn't entirely still.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said, from closer than he had been. "Ignore them. If you wish to help her, I require your attention -- as a witness, if nothing else."

"Witness?" I couldn't imagine what he meant.

"I will need testing samples," he said, "to determine what she has been given. Blood, first. I need you to witness the filling of the collection vials, if you wish to prosecute whomever did this to her." He sneered. "I am quite certain my word will not be considered reliable in court."

"Collection...." My mind made sense of it, finally. I had six such vials in my robe pocket, with a homework assignment to fill them for classroom analysis. "Let me do it."

His eyebrows rose, but the disbelieving expression turned to a nod as I brought out two vials from my robe pocket. "By all means, Apprentice Auror Weasley."

Ginny was still moaning and whining around Harry's tongue, and he didn't look at all reluctant. I didn't want to listen to her. "It takes care of a training assignment," I explained, "plus I know they weren't tampered with."

"Do you really?" he asked, which was a disturbing question. I didn't really have the attention to think about the state of the vials as they were given to us, so I just thumbed the outer top off one. "Hold her arm still?"

He held her arm, and I pricked it and held the vial to the welling blood. She absently tried to twist away, but most of her attention stayed on Harry. In a moment the vial was filled, and I covered it and did the other. Snape nodded approvingly as I set them aside.

"Good," he said, releasing her arm. "Now, I will also need a sample more sensitive to obtain...."

"Huh?" I wished he'd make sense.

He rolled his eyes. "Vaginal fluid, Mr. Weasley. Only some substances can be detected in blood."

"Well, can't you test for those first?"

Harry proved he was listening by raising his head. Ginny's moans changed to a wail. "We could Floo Hermione--"

"The girl, Potter!" Snape snapped.

Harry lowered his head to kiss Ginny again, but after only a second, jerked back, his hands going to his mouth. "She BID me!" he said, the sound muffled.

_Bit_, I realized, as Snape pulled Harry's hand away. A trickle of blood dribbled from his lips. Ginny was yowling like a cat in heat and pushing up as much as the chains would allow.

"Screw this," Harry said. In a quick dive, he was across her and rolling clear, and on the far side of the bed, he opened the drawer in a bedside table. He drew out what looked like a short, thick, rubber cock, or at least the front half of one, flaring out into a wide base. A cloth backing dangled in straps from either side of it.

"Here," he said, teasing her lips with it. "Suck."

She did. As soon as it was mostly in her mouth, the straps bound themselves around her head.

The gag let out even less sound than his kissing had. Most of the remaining noise was her body writhing against the sheets. Her hips moved in tight thrusts against nothing. It was awful, seeing her arch in desperation, as if she were being tortured. Harry, watching, breathed in through his teeth. He rubbed at his face. "I want to--" he began, but Snape shook his head.

"It would make her feel better now," he said, "but far worse later. You know this. You can _think_. She cannot."

Harry nodded. His focus increased a little more. "Poor Ginny," he said, trying to stroke her hair, but she swung at his hand with her head, and biting his lip, he got to his feet. The swelling in his silk bottoms was at least lower and less pointed.

"Can you narrow it down any, Severus?" he asked. "This isn't at all like what you gave that prostitute."

I didn't want to know. Snape nodded. "It seems almost like an interaction," he said.

Neville cleared his throat. "It had to have been at the party," he said. "Michael had a least a few recreational, er...."

Without Ginny's caterwauling, the room was much quieter -- quiet enough for my mind to start working beyond the moment. I turned away, so I couldn't see her. _Michael's party_.

"Ron--"

"Hush."

Harry quieted. I waited. My thoughts fell into place. Party, yacht, inheritance....

"Mr. Snape." Turning, I looked at him. "Could you test specifically for firebird egg?"

His lip curled. "Expecting synchronicity?"

"She was at a party," I explained, "of someone mysteriously and suddenly wealthy. Michael Corner -- Ravenclaw, our class? He's told everyone it was an inheritance, but...."  

"Ah." His nostrils flared, and then settled. "Had I firebird feathers, the test would be easy. Unfortunately, after Harry's arrest, I saw a need to purge my storeroom of standard supplies--"

My fingers closed around the soft little feather that I still carried in my pocket. I pulled it out. "Will this do?"

His eyes widened. After a moment, they flicked to my face. "Absconding with the evidence, Apprentice?"

"Just a reminder," I said, "and I'm not an apprentice to _you_."

It would have been a more satisfying rejoinder had it not made his eyes drift to Harry.

"No," he agreed placidly. "Yes, that will do. Harry?"

"Yes?"

"The flint bowl, please. Clean."

Harry darted out of the room, lead trailing as if he were a runaway dog. Snape turned back to me.

"I will need one of those blood samples. When I tell you to, I want you to drop the feather onto the blood. Firebird egg is an aphrodisiac enhancer, so if the result is positive, we will still have to test for the base. On the other hand, if the result is positive, I can easily counter the enhancement, which should make her more manageable." He looked over to where Ginny was writhing on the bed.

"Longbottom!"

"Yes, sir?"

"_Touch _Miss Weasley. She will dislocate her shoulders if we leave her without contact."

Neville darted quickly to the bed and imitated Harry's former position, with the addition of throwing an arm across her chest. She rubbed her breasts against it. I looked away.

Harry darted back into the room, a hollowed-out flint geode in one hand. He held it out toward Snape. "Sir?"

"Very good, Harry. Kneel."

Without so much as blinking, Harry dropped to his knees and held the bowl out at eye level. I gagged.

"The bottom is rounded," Snape said coolly. He opened one of the vials of Ginny's blood and poured half into the small vessel. It was creepy. I clenched my jaw and watched carefully, to see he added nothing else. "Add your feather," he said.

Not taking my eyes off the blood, I brought the feather out and above the small pool. Just over the surface, I let it go.

It glowed and flared into blue flame, the heat flashing under my fingers as I yanked them away.

Snape hissed out a breath. "Yes," he breathed, and plucked the geode from Harry's hand. "Stand," he said. "Bring me Flame Death and unicorn horn."

"Flame Death!" I protested, as Harry ran from the room again.

"The unicorn horn will render it potable, and it counteracts the heat of the firebird. If the base aphrodisiac was made with nymph hair, as I believe likely, the two together may comprise a full antidote."

I gritted my teeth and nodded. Harry came back with a cup, a vial of black liquid, an apothecary jar, and a glass rod. Under my eyes, Snape poured the liquid into the cup, and handed me the empty vial. "For evidence," he said, and added a sprinkle of powdered unicorn horn, covering the black liquid with little spots of brightness. Three stirs of the glass rod turned the concoction an even silver. He pivoted towards the bed.

"The gag, Longbottom."

Neville tried, fumbling, to remove the gag, but Ginny didn't have the sense to stay still. Harry had to help him with it. She cried out as soon as it was clear of her mouth.

"Fuck! _Please, _one of you fuck me. Burns!"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Of course," he said, lifting the cup so she could see it, but not quite reach it. "One swallow of this, and I will fuck you if you still so desire."

"Give it," she gasped. "Now."

"Support her," Snape barked at Harry, and Harry slipped in behind her, lengthening the chains so she could raise her shoulders. She rubbed back against him, but took the swallow, and lifted her head, still mad with lust.

"Now," she demanded, while Snape, sneering slightly, spilled the rest of the cup down her front, collarbone to crotch. "N--"

She coughed, and curled down.

"You were saying?" Snape asked smoothly.

Again, she raised her head. Her eyes were still burning, but with focus now. "Someone is going to _die._"

His mouth twitched. "But do you know who, Miss Weasley?"

She shrugged helplessly. Harry glanced questioningly at Snape, and at a nod, began to undo her shackles.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what it was. There were all sorts of little treats."

"Were any handed directly to you?"

"A bit of chocolate," she said, her voice strained. "Two drinks. A truffle custard tart."

"Right," I said grimly. I reckoned it would take a fair amount of the egg to produce this much of an effect. If she wasn't forgetting something, it was the custard. "That last one. Who?"

She looked at me and covered her face. "Ron! Merlin! I...."

"Shh," Neville said, wrapping his arms around her. She hid against his shoulder. "You couldn't help it, Ginny. We understand."

"But I--" She was starting to cry; I could hear it in her voice and see it in her shoulders. "It was the tart?"

"The custard," Snape answered, "was made of Firebird egg. I believe something else -- probably the pastry -- contained nymph hair."

"Michael," she said. "I'll kill him."

"You might have to join the queue," Harry retorted grimly.

"No one is killing him," I snapped. To my surprise, Snape nodded at me.

"Quite right. Azkaban will do us all more good in this case." He passed me the sealed vial of Ginny's blood. "Take this and Ginevra to your workplace before you do anything else. Have her give a report, and have the blood sample tested for firebird egg and nymph hair. Both will be positive."

"I know what to do," I growled. "It's my job."

"Better safe than sorry," he retorted. "I expect to be called in as a witness tomorrow, and I expect my lover to be cleared of all charges by next week."

I snorted. "That schedule might be optimistic, but I'll do my best."

  


A few weeks later, Hermione and I were in the Leaky Cauldron, at the second gathering of Gryffindor school-leavers. Parvati had declared we should meet the first Monday of every month. (We'll see how long that lasts.) This time, she had pronounced lovers welcome, no doubt to show off her own boyfriend, Larry Beenham, an accountant from the Ministry Department of Fees and Exceptions. Seamus had brought someone too -- a girl who had attended Beauxbatons, and was now working in beauty charms at a London salon. Surprisingly, she was less silly than Lavender, but I kept forgetting her name because it was French.

"How did you meet?" she asked Parvati and her young man.

"At a party," Parvati said, with a sly smile at Larry.

"It was a beautiful night," he said, 'the stars were bright in the heavens and the whispering sea, and angel consented to dance with me." He raised her hand and kissed it. I tried not to gag. Come to think of it, he seemed even less like an accountant than Miss French-girl did like a hairdresser.

Parvati sighed happily. "It was like a dream," she said. "Such a pity Michael wasn't really that rich. I'd like to go out on that yacht again."

"Before ten years are out, we will have our own," Larry promised impulsively. I got the impression he meant it, too.

"Has Ginny recovered?" Seamus asked. "Well, as much as she can with her name in the paper?"

I glanced at Neville. The paper hadn't had too many details, fortunately -- just that a friend had got her to safety, and then to Severus Snape, potions expert. The report on her blood had been enough to carry an attempted rape charge on top of the multiple charges from killing the firebirds, so she hadn't had to go on about how horrible it was for the Wizengamot.

Neville shrugged. "She was better after the sentencing."

"Better?" Lavender asked.

Hermione smiled. "She and Neville shared a kiss," she said placidly. "She'll recover."

Lavender looked like she was going to ask for more details, but suddenly her mouth froze, half-open. Seamus was staring too. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Harry crossing the room, Snape walking beside him.

"Oh!" Parvati exclaimed.

They reached the table. "Sit," Snape said, pushing Harry toward the chair beside me. "I'll get our drinks."

"Hello, everyone," Harry said as he sat.

"Harry!" Parvati exclaimed. "It's so good to see you!" Her eyes flicked nervously toward the bar, where Snape was standing. Harry grinned.

"Don't worry about Severus. He can only stay for one drink; he has errands in Diagon Alley."

"Besides," I said, "we're Gryffindors."

"Mm," Harry murmured. "Right. He says one of those is enough." He sent me a quick smile. "And I feel the same about Slytherins."

"One is enough?" Seamus needled.

"One too many, if you ask me," I said, and Harry glared.

"You didn't seem to think so the other night."

"Ah, that was with you around," I answered, but I ducked my head. I _was _grateful, really. "It's not like I can count on him."

"But I can," Harry answered cheerfully. "And you can count on me, so there you go."

And, I realized, I could.


End file.
